


between a 'rock' and a 'hard place'

by anarchetypal, egocentrifuge



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Desperation, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Tickling, Watersports, i don't even know okay here just take it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: "I, uh--" Rhett's embarrassed to hear his voice crack. "Yeah, I just need another minute. Tubes and pipes are all mixed up in here, you know how it is."
There's a brief moment of blessed silence, and Rhett exhales in relief just as Link jimmies the lock--and that's not fair, no man that shaky should be allowed to be so deft when it promises to impact Rhett--while murmuring to himself and swings the door open a few feet and, oh, okay, now they're both staring at the issue.
Link's hand goes back, fumbling behind him. "Alright, well, define mixed up." He laughs a little, but he definitely also lets the door close and now, wow, that's not much space for two tall guys. "You having an issue here?" he asks, moving behind Rhett so easily, not hesitating as he slides a hand up underneath Rhett's shirt and presses his lithe fingers against Rhett's lower abdomen.
Rhett lets out a hysterical little laugh as the same muscles that had landed him in this mess tense and jump and his cock twitches traitorously in his hand.
"An issue, yeah," Rhett echoes. "You could say that."





	

So here's the problem.

Rhett would really rather not think about it. Which for him, already out of the normal, but here it is--it's going to be brought up. It's going to be discussed. There's no way to avoid it, with the looks the others were already carefully not giving him after the episode wrapped, with how visible the issue was; all Rhett's asking for is ten minutes, half an hour tops, to decompress. To unwind. To _relax._

But here's the issue: Rhett's not relaxing. 

There are a couple of reasons this is an issue. Or rather, _the_ issue, because it's impossible to forget why Rhett's stressed in the first place with his body intent on prolonging the discomfort. It makes Rhett's mouth dry even without him looking down, which is, as luck would have it, the _thing_ , since Rhett's been sucking down water like air since the first issue presented itself. Five minutes to replace the massage table with the wheel, two minutes for Link to change into merch, ten minutes of playtime turned into twenty, turned into too much to drink, turned into too much shouting, turned into Rhett red-faced and distracted by not one, but _two_ problems by the time he'd finally been allowed to flee. And now three minutes standing here, four minutes, _five_ minutes standing here with the heat high on his cheeks and the tension making his back ache because--

Here's the thing: Rhett's gotta go.

And here's the issue: Rhett's still hard.

And the thing about peeing while hard is that Rhett _can't,_ okay, he's already a nervous peer and it's _just not happening_. He's read plenty of testimonials about it being possible, about the angle and the muscles and about not bending things to constrict flow but it's just not, not happening, not ever, not in the past and certainly not in the _office_ with the pressing knowledge that he's Hard and At Work and Has to Pee Really Bad all working in tandem to make Rhett's palms sweaty and chest tight where he's all-but hiding in the bathroom.

Rhett knows he can't stay in here forever. He's already taken long enough to arouse suspicion--though gosh, he'd rather not use that word--but _here's the thing._ Rhett's got to pee. Legitimately, actually, one-hundred percent. And the _issue_ is heavy in his palm and traitorously warm as it throbs in time with his aching bladder.

An obnoxiously loud pounding at the door nearly startles him into--well, into _something._

"Man, you almost done in there?" Link's voice presses through, timbre low like he's right up against the door and they're having a private conversation. A staggering pulse of arousal goes through Rhett.

"I, uh--" Rhett's embarrassed to hear his voice crack. "Yeah, I just need another minute. Tubes and pipes are all mixed up in here, you know how it is."

There's a brief moment of blessed silence, and Rhett exhales in relief just as Link jimmies the lock--and that's not fair, no man that shaky should be allowed to be so deft when it promises to impact Rhett--while murmuring to himself and swings the door open a few feet and, oh, okay, now they're both staring at the _issue._

Link's hand goes back, fumbling behind him. "Alright, well, define _mixed up."_ He laughs a little, but he definitely also lets the door close and now, wow, that's not much space for two tall guys. "You having an issue here?" he asks, moving behind Rhett so easily, not hesitating as he slides a hand up underneath Rhett's shirt and presses his lithe fingers against Rhett's lower abdomen.

Rhett lets out a hysterical little laugh as the same muscles that had landed him in this mess tense and jump and his cock twitches traitorously in his hand.

"An issue, yeah," Rhett echoes. "You could say that."

"Mm," Link offers, more a sound than a word, a short little hums that says, _well,_ that says, _I'm waiting,_ that says, _Hey Rhett, remember how good I feel when you're down Link's throat and he's touching himself and everything vibrates?_

Rhett tightens his hand without meaning to, swallows hard as the arousal sends a stab of _too-much_ through his bladder. 

"I think I see the problem," Link chuckles, and his hand drops, and Rhett has a moment to wonder if he's relieved or sad about the cessation of pressure on his belly before he's swallowing down a curse as Link's hand closes over his and squeezes in demonstration.

"You gotta actually _move,_ brother."

"Link," Rhett warns. He's not too proud to admit his voice comes out strangled and high, not--not where Link's concerned, not in this context. Not when the rumble of Link's answering, _Mm?_ is enough to send a mean jolt to Rhett's bladder, not when Link doesn't so much as pause in his lazy motion. 

"I know," Rhett says--whines, really, "that's not the problem, alright, it's--I gotta _go."_

Link pauses. Huffs out a laugh. "What?"

"I--I'm serious, since the tickle fingers, that's the only thing I can focus on, man!" Rhett squirms and tries to catch Link's hands where they're starting to wander.

"Wait," Link says, and he separates himself from Rhett a little bit, goes just far enough that Rhett can twist around and see the grin tugging at his lips. Rhett hates everything. "Your problem is--"

"Link--"

"--you gotta go, but you can't, because you're--Right. Wow. _Alright,_ then." There's something worrisome in Link's expression, something that makes Rhett want to flee from the bathroom, but Link just shoves in again and lets his fingertips barely touch at the tip of Rhett's cock. 

Rhett's knees come dangerously close to buckling at the soft touch, the slight burn. He stuffs the soft part of his palm into his mouth and whimpers, chokes out a _What, what are you doing--_

"Oh, baby, I can work with that," Link murmurs with a smile sweet like a cavity, and he reaches out to start ghosting his fingers along Rhett's exposed stomach.

Rhett's muscles clamp down all at once; the noise he makes is less a gasp and more the air being driven out of him.

"Here's the thing," Link says, drowning out Rhett's pained, _Link, don't._ "I think you've got things backwards, brother. I think this--" His hands spread for a moment, tickling in earnest, and only Rhett's locked knees keep him from collapsing even as the laugh tears out of him, "this is what's got you _going."_

Just the word is enough to make Rhett's bladder pulse meanly, and though Link eases off after a moment Rhett's gasping laughter's already tripped over into weak moans. Link's hands are so warm where they smooth down his sides, too warm, too much like the feeling Rhett knows he'd get if he could just freakin' _pee_ and get this ordeal over with. 

It's ridiculous--it's stupid and weird and so _wrong_ that the thought sends a jolt to Rhett's cock, but he hadn't been lying when he'd said the tubes and pipes were all crossed, is too wound-up to even question the wave of arousal that crashes into him when Link digs his fingers in under Rhett's bellybutton.

Something shifts, rusted plumbing groans; Rhett thinks for one terrifying, _blissful_ moment that it's going to happen before his body's shutoff valve tightens and Rhett's left balling his fists against his sides where they've fallen. Frustration slams through Rhett and leaves him feeling empty and drained in no way that matters and he's tilting his head back with something close to a sob.

"I can't," he gasps. "Baby, I really--"

"Shh," Link soothes, easing off the pressure against Rhett's bladder. For a moment Rhett can breathe, can think, but then Link's hooking his fingers under Rhett's jeans and boxers both and they keep the office cool enough that it feels like a knife to Rhett's belly when Link slides the fabric down and off with that same traitorous deftness from before.

"Lift your foot up, c'mon," Link says, and Rhett's not sure he can until he's doing it because Link told him to. The process is repeated on the other side, Link pulling off first Rhett's shoe, then sock, then tugging his jeans free; the tile is cold against his feet, and god if it doesn't prompt another wave of hurt. 

Rhett can barely focus enough to get out _what,_ before Link is shuffling him forward and his intent becomes clear even as Rhett is helpless to focus on anything but the way he's half stripped down and Link is completely, resolutely dressed. They do an awkward dance over to the shower, Rhett's toes curling in reaction to the differentiating tiles on the floor, and still he's trying to speak, "Link--Link, just hold up a minute, just--No, you, hey, n-no, _ah!"_

Link has him cornered in the shower now, crowded against the wall and tickling him in earnest, without mercy. "This helps, right?" he asks, laughing himself, managing to pin Rhett's scrambling hands to the cool wall as he skitters his fingers along every sensitive part Rhett has. Each jump of his muscles has every part of him aching, has his breath catching, has him letting out sounds he'll be embarrassed about later when there's room for anything but desperation and discomfort and so much dizzying arousal.

It doesn't take long before there are tears in Rhett's eyes, threatening to spill down his face as he laughs and writhes and, "Link, please-- _Please_ \--I can't, no more--"

"Let go, then," Link tells him, as if it's that easy. One hand drifts up his abdomen and sends his muscles fluttering and the other grabs the base of his cock and _squeezes,_ makes Rhett gasp something nonsensical before Link is suddenly stroking him off, grip firm, fingers slimmer than Rhett's but placed exactly where Rhett would put his own if he'd been alone.

(And, alone, sure, maybe he'd considered it, the fact that needing to go made his cock take a bit of interest on occasion, maybe he'd gotten himself off once while thinking about that sense of raw desperation, but Link didn't have any way of knowing that.)

But now Link is jerking him off and tickling him at the same time, hands working independently (and, wow, there's another point in the left-handed-Link argument, honestly), and Rhett is shivering and giggling helplessly and he's so, _so_ hard.

"Let go," Link repeats, and Rhett realizes he's been choking on what turns out to be a sob, and he'll find time to be embarrassed about that too when he's not sliding down the wall and flinching at the frigid tile against his cheeks and grasping at Link to--push him away, pull him closer, Rhett doesn't _know,_ can't focus on anything but Link's voice murmuring nonsense in his ear and his hand working at Rhett's cock and his fingers still painting patterns across Rhett's side and--

Rhett's vision goes white and he thinks he might scream a little as he comes, or that he tries too; there's no air in his lungs until he drags in a shuddering breath that comes back out as weak little cries a moment later.

"Link," he realizes he's babbling, "Link, oh--I'm gonna, baby, I'm gonna--"

He can just barely feel Link shifting his grip through the sudden resurgence of his aching bladder and then, "Do it, I've got you. You're all good, brother, c'mon."

And here it is: Rhett lets go, and the sting of having held it so long adds to the fading tremors of Rhett's orgasm and he's glad for Link guiding the stream away from where they're half-tangled in a heap because it's all Rhett can do to not to bite through his lip as he grasps at Link's clothes looking for some anchor as the tension and what feels like a gallon of urine trickles away.

"Oh, good," Link murmurs as the stream stops, the rumble of his voice in Rhett's ear an earthquake, a cataclysm. "Look, that's so good, there you go." His free hand is stroking Rhett's hipbone now, too deliberate to tickle, and Rhett shivers with the sensation, with the cold, with the _empty,_ finally.

It takes a long moment and multiple starts for Rhett to finally get his wrecked voice to cooperate. "Wow," he finally manages, laughing not a little weakly. "That, uh--wow."

And Link--Link is beaming, nose a little crinkled with either the force of it or with what Rhett did or both, and Rhett's so stupidly, helplessly in love with him, and--

"You might want to get that checked out, brother. I mean, I'm no doctor--"

"--you're the missus."

\--here's the thing, Rhett's been in this damn bathroom at least twenty minutes, and Link with him, and now the shower's running and they're both making a racket as Link turns the showerhead on Rhett for his infraction. There's going to be a discussion, there's no way to avoid it. But Rhett's finally, _blissfully_ relaxed, and here's the thing--

It's not gonna be a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> find us at egocentrifuge.tumblr.com and anarchetypal.tumblr.com !!


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